


Sunshine boy

by errantknightess



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pining, Sunburn, Unresolved Romantic Tension, but Prompto rolls nat 1 for perception, technically mutual pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 08:36:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19269616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/errantknightess/pseuds/errantknightess
Summary: “Wow.” And yeah, at any other time Prompto would welcome this reaction from his crush seeing him shirtless. Except Noct winces with sympathy as he stares at him, taking in the full extent of his burn. “These tan lines will stay forever.”“Shut up,” Prompto groans. “I thought you wanted to help.”Noct gives him half a smile that would make him flush if he wasn’t already all red. Then, he dips his fingers in the balm and gingerly smears it on Prompto’s shoulder.





	Sunshine boy

**Author's Note:**

> For [this kinkmeme prompt:](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/5690.html?thread=10621242#cmt10621242)
> 
> Prompto forgets/runs out of sunscreen and now he has the worst sunburn ever and Any has to hold him down and rub aloe vera all over him while he tries and fails to pretend it's not that bad.

The sun beats down like it has a personal grudge against them. Prompto sighs and blinks away the blinding glare and sweat dripping into his eyes. His throat is parched like the earth underneath, small clouds of dust swirling up every time he drags his feet. Seriously, why couldn’t they take on a hunt somewhere cooler?

They’ve been running around the desert since the crack of dawn. Now it’s well past noon, and the angry Leiden heat is at its worst. Prompto silently blesses his tank top. He’s getting a heat stroke just looking at Ignis in that long-sleeved button-up. Even Noct’s black T-shirt seems like too much, with the way it clings so tight to his back. Apparently Noctis thinks so too, because he pulls at it and groans when the stretchy fabric sticks right back to his body.

“Man, it’s hot.”

“So take your shirt off.” Gladio’s tone is only half teasing. He’s already taken his own advice hours ago and looks perfectly happy for it. Prompto has to agree: it’s a great idea. His eyes snap back to Noct before he can try to be subtle about it. They have this exact same conversation every time Noctis complains about the weather. Which is a lot. It’s just a matter of time before he breaks.

For now, it seems Noct is not quite that desperate yet. He just grunts something in reply, pushing his hair back from his damp forehead. His skin shines in the relentless sun. A drop of sweat breaks away, rolls slowly from his temple and down the side of his neck. Noct winces and lifts the edge of his shirt to wipe at his face. Framed by the dark fabric, his stomach looks paler than the sun-bleached stones, the sharp curve of his hipbone smoothing out where it dips into the waistband. For a second, Prompto finds it hard to breathe, in a way that has nothing to do with the hot, dry air around him.

He doesn’t realize he’s staring until Noct looks up and stares back at him. His eyes are intent, curious, and their icy blue does nothing to help Prompto cool down. The wave of heat that rushes under his skin gets to him worse than the mid-day desert swelter. Maybe _he_ should ditch his shirt, too.

“Ready for more?” Noct asks, and Prompto needs a second to realize he means the hunt.

“You bet! Race you to the next spot!” He swats Noct on the shoulder and takes off into the distance, like he can leave his embarrassment behind if he’s fast enough.

 

* * *

 

It’s not until sundown that they get the last job over with. Prompto has never been more grateful to see the pale glow of the haven runes under his feet. Tomorrow, when they cash in all those hunts, they will finally be able to afford a proper motel room – maybe even for more than one night! But right now, it hardly makes a difference to him. He’s ready to crash straight on the solid rock of the campsite.

Still, he stays up long enough to help set up their equipment. Soon the tent is pitched, the fire stoked, and Ignis’s camp stove buzzing under a pot of fresh meat stew. Prompto opens the last folding chair and nearly knocks it over as he collapses onto it, boneless with exhaustion.

Not a second later, he _does_ knock it over, jolting back up with a sharp scream.

His back stings as if he’s been hugged by a cactuar. Prompto looks around, bewildered, half-expecting to find one of those sneaky bastards zooming around the camp. All he sees are the startled glances of his friends. Gladio and Noct have their swords drawn, and Ignis is pointing his way with the knife he’s been using to peel potatoes.

“What was that?”

Prompto gives them a nervous shrug. “Sorry, guys. I guess I just sat on something.”

Ignis drops the stance, but his eyes quickly scan the nearby bushes as he turns back to his work. Gladio sighs – part relief, half part amusement – and goes back to reading, sword flickering out in a flash of light. Noct takes longer. Prompto can still feel his cautious gaze on the back of his head as he picks up the chair and sets it in front of the fire again. He examines the seat and the backrest, runs his hand over the rough canvas. It looks and feels normal. Weird.

“Your shoulder is all red,” Noct pipes up behind him. He pokes it with his finger, and Prompto barely bites back another scream. That stinging itch is back, shooting up and spreading over him like flames in the wind.

“Sorry!” Noct pulls his hand back as if there really were flames to burn him. “Just… This doesn’t look good.” He leans closer again, studying Prompto’s shoulder with a worried crease between his eyebrows. His soft hair tickles Prompto’s cheek. Prompto swallows the urge to bury his nose in it and twists his head to see for himself.

It’s hard to tell in the deep orange sunset and the glow from the fire, but his skin looks red all right. Not a flushed, healthy pink from exertion – it’s bright red like a freshly fired brick. And it hurts like he’s been shoved into a kiln, too.

“That’s a pretty bad sunburn,” Ignis judges, stepping up to them in two brisk strides. The look he turns to Prompto is as concerned as it is stern. “Did you not use sunscreen?”

“I ran out,” Prompto admits, sheepishly shrugging his sore shoulders. He doesn’t add that he didn’t bother picking it up at their last outpost since they were low on money. In retrospect, maybe he should have found something else to skimp on.

“You could’ve used mine.” Noct sounds downright betrayed. Prompto recognizes this tone. He’s heard it often, ever since high school, every time they argue about him asking and accepting favours – or, well, _not_ doing it, at least not enough in Noct’s opinion.

“It’s not a big deal,” he says quickly. He doesn’t want to argue about it again now. “It’s just a little sun. I’ll be fine!” He plops down in the chair and reclines as far as he dares, even as his back goes rigid with sudden pain. The doubting look Gladio shoots him over the book tells him he didn’t quite manage to keep the wince off his face. Prompto gives up and changes the position, leans forward with elbows on his knees, but it’s hardly better. His arms ache too. Even his hands are burnt, fingers swollen and red against the stark white shape where his gloves were. He closes his fist and hisses as the tight skin pulls over his knuckles.

“You’re hurt.” Noct’s face is serious, like this is something that requires a potion and not a wet towel and some cream.

“I’m not _injured_ ,” Prompto protests, just in case.

“Technically, you are,” Ignis supplies. “Mild as it is, sunburn is not unlike other types of burns. Your skin is damaged. With your complexion in particular, it was rather irresponsible of you to go out in the desert without protection.”

“Yeah, I’d say.” Gladio marks the page with his thumb and points the book at Prompto as menacingly as one can point a cheap romance paperback. “You’ll have a hell of a time fighting tomorrow, that’s for sure. Hard to land a good blow when the lightest poke makes you fold up. Trust me, I know something about it.”

“And yet you still run around shirtless…”

“Not like it can hurt him,” Noct quips, pulling a soda can from the cooler. “By now, he’s got skin like a dualhorn.” He dodges the book Gladio swats at him and ducks behind Prompto’s chair. Prompto feels him reach over the backrest, and suddenly the icy touch of metal bites into his skin.

“Better?” Noct asks, slowly rolling the can over the nape of his neck. Prompto whimpers at the pressure, but it really does ease the pain a little.

“Yeah.” He closes his eyes and bows his head down, arching his neck into this passing relief.

“It’ll heal faster if you put some lotion on it,” Gladio says. “There should be some in my bag, go get it.”

“Great idea.” The blissful chill disappears, but Prompto doesn’t protest, not when Noct’s hand closes around his wrist and gently pulls him out of the chair. “Come on, let’s get you sorted out.”

Gladio grins in a very weird way, or maybe that’s just the flickering firelight. Prompto doesn’t have time to take a closer look. He stumbles past and lets Noct tug him inside the tent.

The flap falls closed behind them, casting everything in a greenish shadow. Maybe it’s just a trick of his mind, but Prompto already feels cooler, away from the heat of the fire and with the fresh night air licking his skin. That must be where those shivers came from, too. Definitely not from being nervous – why would he be nervous? It’s not like he’s imagined this a hundred times, the two of them retreating into the tent in the evening, all alone…

Noct lets go of his hand and starts digging through their things, and Prompto desperately tries to pull himself together. He almost succeeds. Then, Noct turns to face him with a small jar in his hand.

“Take your shirt off,” he orders.

Prompto’s brain short-circuits as reality collides with all of his fantasies and plows right through them.

It takes a long, excruciating moment to peel off his tank top. Every brush of the fabric on his raw skin is torture. Maybe it would be easier to tear it off in one go, but Prompto can’t bring himself to do that. Once he’s finally free, he tosses the shirt on his bedroll and turns to Noct, trying to not be too obvious in the way he straightens his back and pushes his chest out.

“Wow.” And yeah, at any other time this would be a welcome reaction to get from his crush seeing him shirtless. Except Noct winces with sympathy as he stares at him, taking in the full extent of his burn. “These tan lines will stay forever.”

“Shut up,” Prompto groans. “I thought you wanted to help.”

Noct gives him half a smile that would make him flush if he wasn’t already all red. Then, he dips his fingers in the balm and gingerly smears it on Prompto’s shoulder.

He could as well poke him with a white-hot rod. Prompto yanks away with a yelp, nearly knocking the jar out of Noct’s hand. Noct pulls back, meeting his eyes with an anxious glance.

“Sorry. It hurts that much?”

“No, it’s fine,” Prompto says quickly, because really, that’s just embarrassing. “Just warn me next time.”

“Okay.” Noct’s breath brushes warmly over his neck. “Here goes.”

He puts his hand to Prompto’s shoulder again, much slower this time. It barely touches him before he’s curling in on himself like a distressed bulette.

“Hey, stand still,” Noct complains. “I’m not gonna chase you all around the tent.”

“I’m trying!” Prompto takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, steeling himself best as he can. “Okay, okay. I’m ready.”

Still, he can’t help but flinch when the next stroke sears a prickling line across his back.

“This won’t work,” Noct sighs. He grabs Prompto’s elbow and gently pulls him down onto the bedroll. “Here, lay down. I can’t do this when you keep dancing like that.”

Prompto obliges, sprawling on his stomach and resting his cheek on his crossed arms. He can’t twist his head back to see, but he can feel Noct hovering over him, straddling his legs as he leans closer to reach his shoulders.

“Get ready.”

Prompto’s muscles tense up as soon as the touch comes. The balm stings on his skin and in his nose – a sharp, airy scent of aloe. He bites down on his lip, trying hard to stop himself from whining, but a few pathetic sounds still escape him.

“Just a bit more,” Noct assures him, his voice as soft as his fingers.

Prompto grunts through clenched teeth, pressing his face into his folded arms. He doesn’t mind Noct taking his time, if that means he’s careful. And Noct’s _trying_. His touch is light, barely there over the biting of the salve. Every now and then, he stops to take more from the jar, muttering a quick warning before he continues. He’s going slow, steadily rubbing small circles all over Prompto’s shoulder blades. It would be relaxing, if Prompto could stop focusing on every touch and on how _it shouldn’t feel this good_. He stifles another choked sigh, hoping it can pass for a moan of pain as Noct gently strokes over his biceps. The weird minty chill numbs the skin wherever his hands glide, to and fro, covering every inch. It doesn’t really hurt anymore – just tickles. Prompto stifles a laugh into the crook of his elbow. As he squirms, Noct squeezes his thighs with his knees to keep him in place.

“Almost finished.” He swipes over the nape of Prompto’s neck, brushing his hair up and away from the oily balm. Prompto shivers again and Noct presses down, just a little, a steadying hand on the back of his head. Yeah, he definitely doesn’t mind Noct taking his time. He could easily spend all night like this, with a hand in his hair and fingers skimming over his skin, slender, warm and gentle. _Noct’s_ fingers. Now he really wishes he’d taken the shirt off earlier and baked to a crisp in the desert sun, just for this to last longer. Just to have those fingers explore more of his back, trail lower, trace down his spine all the way down to—

“All done.” Noct pats him on the side, well away from all the tender spots. The pressure on his legs lets up as he crawls off him. Prompto misses it instantly. He sits up slowly, even though his body feels like jelly and he’d rather just melt into the bedroll.

“Thanks,” he mutters.

“No problem,” Noct says, but makes no move to leave now that he’s finished. He gives Prompto a long look, as if checking his work. “You’re pretty burnt up at the front, too. You wanna…?”

“Uh, sure.” Prompto plucks the jar from his hand and starts rubbing at his shoulders, ducking his head low. He’s not doing half as good a job as Noct did, but at least he doesn’t have to look him in the eye and let him see just how much all of this gets to him.

“You missed a spot,” Noct points out. Their hands brush as he reaches into the jar. He takes a swipe of the balm and gently drags his fingers across Prompto’s collarbones – and then further, down his chest, and Prompto almost forgets how to breathe.

“Does it help?” Noct asks. His low voice vibrates in the air between them, in what little gap there’s left.

“Yeah.” Prompto forces a light tone, trying to think about anything except how easy it’d be to close that gap. “Dude, it’s like you’ve got magic hands… Oh, hey! You actually _do_. You think it would work if you hit me with an ice spell instead?”

Noct smirks and pokes him in the nose, leaving a small lump of the balm on the tip.

“Sure it would work. If you wanted to get frostbite.”

“Oh. Right.” Prompto goes cross-eyed, staring down Noct’s finger as he starts to smear the balm on his face. “Guess it wouldn’t feel that nice.”

“Does this feel nice?”

Noct strokes his cheek gently, hesitantly, like he’s trying to play connect-the-dots with his freckles and can’t figure out the pattern. His hand wanders down, smoothing along the line of his jaw. Prompto slowly nods into the touch; he doesn’t dare to speak, not when Noct’s fingertips linger just by the corner of his mouth. The cool, slightly sweet taste of aloe clings to his lips as he breathes in. There’s another taste on that air, too – something warmer and much, much sweeter. He closes his eyes and it only grows more intense. _Everything’s_ more intense. The pulse drumming in his temples. The warm puffs of breath on his face. Noct’s hand curling on the nape of his neck.

The tent flap rustling open.

“Dinner’s ready.” Gladio’s voice rumbles in the sudden silence as he pokes his head inside.

They pull away so fast it probably looks comical. It _definitely_ looks suspicious, if Gladio’s watchful gaze is anything to go by. Thankfully, he doesn’t comment, and a second later he’s gone as if nothing happened. Because, well. Nothing happened.

“Be right there,” Noct calls after him, though he’s not looking that way at all. His eyes keep shifting between Prompto and the floor – favouring the floor – as much as Prompto can tell, because he’s pointedly avoiding them too. Until finally he catches one of Noct’s ill-timed glances and it’s too late to look away.

Noct opens his mouth, but whatever he wants to say doesn’t make it out. Prompto is kind of relieved. He wouldn’t know how to reply, anyway. His tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth, dry as the desert. The silence stretches on for a moment longer, just long enough to hold his breath. Then, Noct steps forward with a sigh and rakes his hand through Prompto’s hair, wiping off the slick remains of the balm.

“Come on,” he says at last.

Prompto stares at his back as he leaves the tent, a black shape blending into darkness. His scalp prickles where Noct’s fingers touched; his shoulders shiver with goosebumps and his face burns, and none of that has anything to do with the aloe smeared on his skin.

He’s _definitely_ ditching the shirt tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: Many, many thanks to MysteriousBean for [THIS AMAZING PICTURE LOOK AT IT ISN'T IT GLORIOUS](https://twitter.com/CarrieVogel5/status/1245137075818475520) ;u;
> 
> Thanks for reading! Come say hi on [tumblr](https://errantknightess.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/Err_417) if you like~


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